


Lifeline

by FrostfallArcher



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Broken Families, Depression, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Gen, Headcanon, Healing, Minor Character Death, Other, References to Depression, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostfallArcher/pseuds/FrostfallArcher
Summary: Clutching the box of his belongings to his chest, Rulindil stepped out into the sun beneath the towering buildings that surrounded him. The spring wind tickled against his clammy skin, the little kiss of chill reinvigorating some part of his soul that had remained lost in the shadows of his breakdown."I don't need help.""You do," Hendare had insisted. "I can tell you do.""How?" Rulindil snarled into the receiver. "You think you know everything, don't you?""I know you do because you called me."
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	1. Failure

**Author's Note:**

> Look at this. Years later and I still don't know what to say here. I suppose I'll say hello!  
> Before I continue, please **please** read the tags. This little ficlet is sort of a build-up to an upcoming modern collaboration, and it's to sort of put Rulindil's "back story" out there. Though this may be short, it is going to be _heavy_ and for mature audiences, due to self-destructive habits, alcoholism, depression, and Vaarilion being the asshole you will come to love. 
> 
> This is a past set up/prequel to a modern story that will be posted at some point. There are dark themes, my ocs, and as always I do not own Rulindil. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Enjoy :)

Rulindil had never been one to follow his heart. Such ideology was reserved for those who lacked primary discipline and sought mediocrity. Altmer were the ones to drive forward into the future, to lead and guide. To set standards and guidelines for lesser races to strive after, even if achievements and excellence would never come into their grasp. 

So when his father mentioned one deary morning back nearing a century ago that his elder brother, Hendare, was leaving his established profession to instead chase after his new dream, Rulindil frowned along with him. 

"What is he thinking?" Rulindil had asked. "Surely this is a jest. He'd be foolish to do such a thing!" 

"It isn't," Vaarilion sighed, frustration narrowing his eyes and ticking his jaw. "He has decided to become a nature journalist and travel the world." 

It had baffled Rulindil, even shamed him to a degree. He had always looked up to Hendare, and had only hoped to have his drive and dedication in his career. And now? 

"He'll regret it," Rulindil's nose scrunched, disgust painting his voice. He was certain Hendare had single-handedly destroyed far more than just his admiration.

"Of course he will," Vaarilion scoffed, rising from his seat across from Rulindil's desk. He smoothed his suit and sighed. "Don't forget to have the notes for the current case on my desk by noon." 

"Of course, sir. I shall begin right away," Rulindil nodded curtly. With no further word, Vaarilion walked out of his office leaving Rulindil to the task at hand. 

At least, that's what was expected of him. For Rulindil, the minutes had taken the form of hours. In the wake of the news, he endured a roulette of emotions that tormented him, his notes overlooked further and further with each passing second as his attention instead lingered on the black shine of the telephone at the corner of his desk.

He hadn't picked up the receiver, Auri-el knew he wanted to. The questions that plagued him demanded answers, the one that repeated the most; How could you do this?

"Rulindil!" 

He gave a start at the sharp call of his name, his attention quickly lifting to the miffed form of Vaarilion in the doorway. 

"Yes, sir?" 

"Have you finished the notes I asked for?" 

Rulindil looked down at his typewriter and swallowed. The half-page leered back at him, and with a nervous look to the wall clock, his throat only tightened to see the hands pointing at half-past eleven. 

"I'm nearly finished," he lied, a slight sheen of red dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he looked back at Vaarilion and prayed it would satisfy him. The way his father's amber eyes narrowed and his frown blackened into a glare told him it hadn't. 

"I've already dealt with one bought of embarrassment today. I will not be humiliated further by the pair of you," Vaarilion growled. 

"They will be completed, fath-sir," Rulindil lowered his head and lifted his hands to the keys. "I apologize for the delay. I - I merely needed to pause and gather my thoughts." 

Vaarilion hadn't said another word. The way he had looked at him had told plenty; He didn't believe him, and he already anticipated failure. Though time was against him that day, Rulindil delivered nine full pages of notes. His hands aching and fingers stiff, he walked into Vaarilion's office victoriously and placed them down gently upon the leather desktop. 

"The annotations as requested," Rulindil stepped back and waited in polite silence as the mer behind the desk ignored him in favor of the current document he was reading. 

After a moment, Vaarilion lifted his hand and removed his wire-framed glasses. Settling his irritated gaze on him, the elder Elsinaire of the firm sneered. "Is there a reason you're still here?" 

Little did Rulindil realize then just how much that question would stay with him. Years continued to morph to decades, cases came and went, victories were celebrated in majority. His job was his identity, his name up and rising in the new century, his projected value and power rumored and written to be equal to his father's. 

Outside court, he studied every detail, and in the courts he was unrivaled. The Firm of Silinian & Elsinaire was declared Nirn's most highly acclaimed law firm. A declaration and honor that had stood for three hundred and sixty-two years. One that would stand for another fifty-nine years until Rilis & Direnni Law Associates moved to the Imperial City from Summerset to challenge the long-standing reputation built by Voradil Silinian, Vaarilion Elsinaire, and all that made their business as esteemed as it was. 

_Is there a reason you're still here?_

With each case, each court date, each victory, each sleepless night, and each passing day, that question had grown from the smallest of whispers to the greatest of provocations. He had ignored it at first by engrossing himself in his work, each triumphant case swelling his ego to haughtily remind the vexatious little question that this was where he belonged. 

But with times changing and the world pressing forward much too quickly, the stress began to become more than he could ignore by simply delving into his work. He tried relationships and quickly found such conquests unhelpful no matter how pleasurable they might've been. With each passing day, that inquiry became louder, and his pride kept him silent. 

Alcohol was next; the harder, the better. Rulindil often impressed himself with how seamlessly he could direct his day with the hangovers he suffered after each attempt to silence that replay of his father's voice all those decades ago. One of his last cases was one that Rulindil could scarcely recall. The build-up was spent in the form of long days in his office with the blinds drawn. Medication that didn't touch the pounding in his head or clutching the toilet for dear life between clients. 

"Rulindil, you know you are allowed a sabbatical," Voradil had said, offering the mer his kerchief after Rulindil had exited the bathroom one morning gasping and sweating. "You have been working far too hard for quite some time. Is everything alright?" 

'No,' Rulindil had longed to say. 'Nothing is alright, not anymore, and I don't know what to fucking do!' 

But seeing Vaarilion at the end of the hallway, annoyed glare in place had been all Rulindil had needed to hand Voradil his kerchief back and instead croak, "I'm fine, Voradil. T-Thank you for your concern." 

"You're sure?" 

"Yes. I apologize for any distress or interruptions on my behalf. I...I need to get to work." 

_Is there a reason that you're still here?_

The rest of that week was burned into his memory forever. Days that reeked of stress sweat and vomit as his body struggled to cope with the abuse he pressed upon it, but that Turdas was a sick, twisted deja vu. 

As he had decades prior, Rulindil found himself looking at the phone at the edge of his desk as his computer sat forgotten before him. The back of his throat stung from acid, his cheeks were still damp with tears, and his heart raced in his chest not only from the stress of vomiting for the third time that day but from the fear at the very thought of reaching for that phone to make the call he had wanted to for so long. 

His hand trembled as he gripped the pull on his desk drawer. There was no need to look away as he quickly fished out the hidden envelope beneath the books and notepads stored within. 

Rulindil had imagined this moment in various ways for numerous years. He had the script ready in the beginning, much as he did now, prepared to unleash his displeasure upon the one that held the other end of the line. Ready to flaunt that he would be the one to gain richly in life and that his career would forever stand and leave an impact. 

He glanced at the worn papers before him, pressing the sheets flat as he had for so long when he'd catch a bought of bravery, a pang of unfair sadness picking him at the olden script of a typewriter peeking out from beneath the most recent sleeve of handwritten parchment. Gods, how many years had it been? How had things changed so quickly? The blink of an eye...time surely wasn't on anyone's side. 

At the ring in his ear, Rulindil fumbled to readjust the receiver against his shoulder, the surprise that he'd even dialed the number a shock to his addled mind. What if the number was out of use now? Surely this was a waste of time- 

"Hendare here." 

His heart twisted in his chest at the gentle voice he had tried so hard to be upset with. Rulindil struggled to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat, and his damned eyes burned as his perfect script suddenly vanished to leave him helpless to the storm of silence.

"Hello?" 

"H-Hendare," Rulindil turned his head, clearing his throat as he pressed his fist to his lips. "It's -" 

"Rulindil?" Hendare breathed. "Auri-el's grace, is that you?" 

Rulindil hadn't been ready for any of this, let alone the underlying ring of happiness in Hendare's voice that cut him to the core. 

"Yes." 

"Gods, I haven't heard from you in so long! I've written to you for a while. Have you gotten my letters?" 

"Yes, Hendare, I - I've been busy." 

Guilt stung him, his stomach coiling with nausea. His brother had written to him weekly, if not bi-weekly, a little after Vaarilion let Rulindil in on his leaving to pursue his new goals. 

"For fifty-nine years? Has father been working you that hard?" Hendare teased. 

"Father has nothing to do with it," Rulindil's voice hardened fractionally, his pride in pleasing Vaarilion rectifying his mental shields just enough. 

"I meant no offense, Rulindil," Hendare soothed with a smile that Rulindil could still picture in his mind. "I do not wish to upset you. You always were particular about father." 

Speak of him, and he'd appear. Rulindil and Hendare had always sworn Vaarilion had the hearing ear of an unrecognized god or daedra. 

_Is there a reason?_

"Hendare," Rulindil's voice was softer, trembling with his determination to cover up the foolish emotions that wore him ragged. 

_**Why did you do it?**_

He finally had his chance. This was a moment that Rulindil had played over and over in his mind. A moment that would be remembered as a victory. One that would finally show his brother the shame that he had caused both himself and his family for what he'd done. 

"Yes, Ruly?" 

Ruly. Gods, how that nickname used to agitate him so. 

Before Rulindil could finally deliver the scathing reprimand he'd desired for decades building, a shadow moved at his doorway. The question he'd had ready shriveled in his throat, and he felt his features fracture into a mask that gave Vaarilion all he needed to know that his son was doing something he'd dislike. 

"Rulindil?" 

Vaarilion's eyes often reminded Rulindil of burning coals. When he was young, his classmates often asked if he was a vampire or some other sort of monster. Now, finding himself beneath those eyes for a time uncharted, Rulindil understood once more how they could think such things. 

"Ru-" 

"How?" Rulindil breathed, unsure if his question had even been audible beneath the foreboding presence of his father. 

"What?" 

Vaarilion's glare blackened into a fierce scowl, and Rulindil swore he had heard his eldest's voice before he stepped back and vanished down the hall. 

"Rulindil? What did you say?" 

"How, Hendare?" Rulindil leaned forward to rest on his elbows, his eyes scrunched shut, but his tears still distorted the paper beneath him and blotted the ink. 

_How could you?_

_"How did you do it, Hendare?"_ He heard himself wheeze before he pulled in a deep breath and tried to force himself to snap out of whatever had befallen him that would cause him to act like a sniveling child. 

A brief silence hung between them. Rulindil's ears strained, his heart fluttering as his hope clutched to each little sound on the other end of that line. 

"I...I just did, Rulindil," Hendare said softly. 

"Why?" Rulindil pressed. _"Why_ did you do it, Hendare?" 

_Validate what my soul screams for. Save me, brother._

"Because I - I couldn't take it anymore," Rulindil exhaled at Hendare's response. "It was driving me into a very dark place." Hendare paused and very tenderly added. "Much like the place you're in now." 

Rulindil ran his hand down his face, catching up his tears and sweat had remained from his sickness and scowled weakly. 

"You know nothing of my life, Hendare." 

"I know you're hurting. I hear it in your voice." 

At the silence that lingered, Hendare continued. "If you need help, know that I am here, and I'm willing to do anything I can for you, Ruly. I always have been." 

That night, Rulindil laid on the tile of his bathroom, the chill doing little to snuff the hot race of his heart in his chest. The ceiling and walls swam and distorted before his unfocused eyes, and his head throbbed. 

His body had pressed back against the first gulp of scotch, his stomach groaning in protest as the heat hit it. The Altmer's face scrunched up in anguish, fighting to keep the alcohol down. 

The warmth of its effects lulled him, the burn intense but pleasant enough as it did its duty and numbed him decently after the first two glasses. The following two found him struggling to stay awake in his own vomit. 

"G-Gods...damn...it," he slurred, his tears hot against his now chilled skin that threatened to break with sweat. His limbs refused to listen as he fought to put them beneath him, his only achievement being slipping in the bile to flop back down to the soiled floor. _"Gods..."_

And then the blackness claimed him, and drug him away into restless slumber and wicked nightmares. 

\---

Fredas afternoon nearing the fourteenth hour found Vaarilion Elsinaire tucked away behind the mahogany shield of his desk rummaging through a file stuffed full with messy stationery. A headache saw him in an already unfavorable temper and the fact that Rulindil had neglected his job as well as a phone call giving an explanation for his absence further vexed him. 

A light tap on the door had Vaarilion looking up and just as quickly returning his focus to his task at hand, glowering as the Silinian portion of the firm stepped into his office.

"Need something?" 

"Still no word from Rulindil?" Voradil inquired, the tone of displeasure knowing the answer already not going amiss by Vaarilion as he lowered himself into a seat before the desk.

"No, and it is no concern of mine if he has suddenly decided to become sloth to his obligations." 

"My friend, Rulindil has been deteriorating before our eyes. He is on a path of declension-" 

"Which is not my problem," Vaarilion glared up at Voradil. "And if you have nothing pressing to speak of, then kindly leave me be." 

"I do feel that this is a genuinely critical topic," Voradil clipped. "He has done so much, and I feel that he is very unstable." 

"He has worked. That is what grown mer do, Voradil. They work." 

"Vaarilion, he has destroyed himself and any drive he once had," Voradil's eyes narrowed, his upper lip twitching slightly and his nose scrunching as he looked back at Vaarilion's glaring face. "And I have the right mind to believe that he has because of you." 

"Oh! Because of me?" Vaarilion scoffed. "You are wasting time, Voradil." 

"I rather think I'm not." 

"You are the most insufferable clod when you wish to be!" Vaarilion slammed the file down on his desk, his eyes narrow and sharp on Voradil. "What do you suggest I do, hm? Do you want me to call him? Ask him how his day has gone as I sit here busting my arse over a case that he has failed to prepare for?" 

Voradil shook his head, his lips pursing as his agitation further bloomed at Vaarilion’s attitude. His response was ripe on his tongue when he watched Vaarilion's anger evanesce into a look of surprise at the sight of something or someone at his door. Voradil only had to turn and catch a single glimpse of Rulindil before he rushed to his feet. 

"Rulindil!" He exclaimed, crossing over to the sickly looking mer that swayed on his feet in the doorframe. "Gods, boy! What - What happened to you? Are you injured?!" 

"I'm fine," Rulindil sighed, wincing at the ache in his throat from the hours he'd spent clutching his toilet for dear life as his body vehemently rejected every little thing that remained in his stomach. His anticipatory gaze hinged upon the mer behind the desk as he took a slow, careful stride into the room. "I need...to speak with you." 

Vaarilion's head tilted up at Rulindil's approach, a frown on his face as he looked upon the condition of his youngest child. It was a surprise at how haggard the mer looked, how gaunt his face had become, how the lines of age and stress had started to crease it. 

"Sir." 

"Rulindil," Vaarilion acknowledged with the slightest lift of his brow. Beneath his gaze, Rulindil shuffled on his feet, his fingers playing nervously at the seam of the coat he wore. 

"I - I'm sorry, but..."

A hot spike of anger yanked and twisted at Vaarilion's stomach and spread outward to tense his entire body tight in anticipation of his son's next sentence should he attain the bravado to speak it. Rulindil pulled in a breath, closed his eyes, and very remorsefully finished. "I can no longer work here." 

Rulindil had expected the silence. He had expected the silence to be as heavy and terrifying as it had been. What Rulindil hadn't expected was how weightless he felt beneath the veil of burning fury of Vaarilion's glare. "You're quitting?" 

Rulindil couldn't help but flinch at the weight of the question. "Yes. I - I am leaving the firm." 

"Then leave." 

Vaarilion, blessedly as it was unfortunate depending, had always been a mer that didn't hinder the inevitable. That Fredas found it a blessing as Rulindil said no further word, turned on his heel and walked out of the office for the final time. 

Clutching the box of his belongings to his chest, Rulindil stepped out into the sun beneath the towering buildings that surrounded him. The spring wind tickled against his clammy skin, the little kiss of chill reinvigorating some part of his soul that had remained lost in the shadows of his breakdown. 

_"I don't need help."_

_"You do," Hendare had insisted. "I can tell you do."_

_"How?" Rulindil snarled into the receiver. "You think you know everything, don't you?"_

_"I know you do because you called me."_

_The silence had only damned him, burned the tips of his ears and face scarlet, giving life to the otherwise sickly tone of his features._

_"Brother," Hendare continued, the kindness and worry in his voice only further distressing the mer trembling at the other end of the line. "You can do this."_

_Rulindil swallowed, his eyes burning and cheeks wet. “How?” he croaked, his knuckles whitening around the plastic, clinging to his lifeline._

Rulindil paused before the payphone, the chatter and noise of the city and its patrons quieting as he slipped his hand into his pocket, his fingertips rummaging through the chilly septims within. 

_Hendare chuckled, the sound kind and one that whisked Rulindil back to a time long out of reach when things were simple and happy._

_"Because you are strong, Rulindil."_

The coin slipped into the slot, and the metallic buttons gave to the press of his finger. 

"Bess Flora, how may I help you?" 

_"Never forget that.”_

"Uncle Maras, it's Rulindil." 

"Rulindil! Gods, boy! How are you?" 

He couldn't help the little upturn of his lips at the joy wrapped warmly around his uncle's voice. "I will be fine." 

"Will? Whatever is the matter, my boy?" 

"It is a conversation for another time," Rulindil leaned against the box. "Perhaps, if you aren't too busy that is, but...would you care to have lunch on Morndas?" 

"I would enjoy that greatly!" Maras' excitement was nearly palpable. Rulindil smiled. 

"I shall come to you then. Will one o'clock suffice?" 

"One will do perfectly," Maras affirmed. "I will see you then!"


	2. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge **Thank You!** to my beloved SoftlyTea for allowing me to borrow her darling Larysa and her ship for this chapter <3

Rulindil hadn't stepped foot in the florist established and cherished by his Uncle and Aunt in nearly seven decades. A fact that made him wince at the guilt that clawed at his heart as he navigated the street and the few people that fluttered about on their business between shops. 

Following his mother's unfortunate and sudden death, Rulindil and Hendare soon found their lives tangled in a web of spiraling, ricocheting emotions, but it was Vaarilion that had suffered the greatest. 

A depression had clawed their father into, what most had assumed to be, a place that he'd never navigate out of. It was Maras and his beloved wife, Orabess, that had moved from their quaint home in Evermore to provide what they could for the children and their heartbroken father. Fear and desperation had been the drive for Hendare, and likewise Rulindil, to help bring what they had of a father back from the monstrous shadow of grief that had consumed him. First, it had started with tasks around the home. Hendare and Rulindil would do all they could to help Maras and Bessy clean and insisted that their father’s favorite dishes be consistent on the menu. 

In their studies, the brothers excelled. They passed their classes with flying colors and attained high honors as they finished their primary education. They had fought for their grades, clawed their way past the opposition from the mentors and tutors who frowned upon their pedigrees. Who always found a way to try to hold them back, but Hendare and Rulindil had done it. It took nearly a century before Vaarilion started to really respond to their achievements, but once he did the standards were set, and the boys did all they could to continue to meet them throughout their secondary educations as well as in their careers. 

By then, Maras and Orabess had purchased a building in the inner sanctum of the city and opened a florist. Bessy had always had a fascination with flowers. They always brought her joy as she created stunning arrangements with their beauty.Rulindil smiled sadly as he thought back on his dear aunty Bessy and how he'd always receive a single azalea when she and Maras would catch word of his accomplishments. 

_"Why this one?" he'd asked her one of the last times he'd ever been in the shop._

_"Azaleas say what I wish for you," Bess had said with a smile. "They say "take care of yourself for me," and I pray that you will take care of yourself always, my sweet boy."_

She always insisted on her hugs, often mocking a fuss when her nephews refused to bend down to her level so she could place affectionate kisses upon their cheeks. Rulindil was always sure to provoke her small, Bosmeri wrath, before giving in with a laugh. 

_“You are rotten, child!" Bess would chastise with a smile that rather outshone her faux outrage. "Gods, how I adore you."_

The sparrows and pigeons bounced out of his path as he slowly walked to the street corner and paused. An unexpected twist of what he could only describe as something akin to homesickness in his heart accompanied the view of the florist on the street opposite of him. A sickness for a place within the sea of time, a place that appeared so simple now even with its struggles and sorrows. The corner shop beckoned him to approach, and like a moth to the flame, Rulindil pulled in a soft breath and obeyed the call. The large panes of glass were framed by weathered wood and chipping, faded deep green paint. The ancient marble of the building was long overdue for a scrub, but he found that it added to the antiqued charm of the city centre. 

As he stepped onto the street before the entryway, Rulindil couldn't help but sigh sadly. By now, Orabess would've practically flown out of the door to shower him with affection, her happiness intoxicating in a way that could always pull him from any upset he might've been facing at the time. There was no promise of such things now. Bessy had passed peacefully in her sleep nearly five decades prior after a long and lively life of travel, love, and selfless dedication to those around her. The little bell above the door, however, still managed to put a bit of a smile on Rulindil's lips as he opened the door and stepped inside. 

"Ah, just a moment!" Maras called from somewhere in the back of the store. Rulindil paused there in the entry and simply savored the sights, the scents, and the warmth of spirit that still permeated the atmosphere. Perhaps Orabess lingered in a way after all. Chuckling at the little crash that came from the back, Rulindil crossed through the cheerful displays and stocked shelves to put himself at the counter. It was but a second later that Maras appeared. 

"I'm sorry," he said as he wiped his hands on his apron. "My nephew is coming over and - Rulindil!" 

Rulindil smiled as Maras quickly stepped out from behind the counter and enveloped him in a hug that had the safe effect as it always had even after decades had passed. There in the familiar warmth that made him feel so welcome, even though he'd be naught but a stranger at this point after decades of shameful absence, Rulindil felt that everything would be alright after all. 

"By the divines, boy!" Maras stepped back and held Rulindil by the shoulders at arm's length. The excitement lighting his features dimmed for a flicker of a second as he took his nephew in. "Don't take offense, but you look...tired." 

"None taken," Rulindil smiled. "Admittedly, life has been rough as of late." 

"I could tell on the phone. Are you well? At least more so than you were when we spoke on Fredas?" 

"As well as I can be," Rulindil nodded, the slightest hint of upset fracturing through his happiness. 

"A conversation over lunch perhaps?" 

"If it's okay with you." 

Maras removed his apron and folded it neatly. Placing it on the smooth polish of the wooden countertop, he smiled and gestured to the door as he put a gentle hand on the back of Rulindil's shoulder. "Come on then! I know just the place. It's just up the street." 

\---

A Little Cup of Tea was as charming as the rest of the city centre. The warm scent of confectionary, tea, and nibbles lulled Rulindil the moment he stepped inside. It wasn't terribly vast in space, but the decor and atmosphere made him feel welcome from the start. 

"Come on in," a kindly Dunmer smiled from behind the counter. "Ah, Maras! How are you today my friend?" 

"I am doing very well, Erandur, thank you!" Maras replied as he hung his coat on the seatback of a chair. "And yourself?" 

"I can't complain," Erandur nodded to Rulindil in acknowledgment. "Greetings friend." 

"Good day," Rulindil lowered himself into his seat. 

"Shall I have Larysa start your usual, Maras?" 

"Yes, please. That'd be lovely," Maras looked to Rulindil. "Order whatever you like. It's my treat." 

"Uncle, I intended on purchasing your meal. It's the least I can do after my inexcusable absence." 

Maras waved him off, shaking his head in firm opposition. "I insist and will hear no more of it, Rulindil." 

A defeated sigh found its way past Rulindil's lip, and with a soft shake of his head, he looked back at Maras. "Thank you, Uncle." Rulindil smiled at the mer who had reached across the table to hold his shoulder gently. 

"Always, my boy." 

It was after Rulindil placed his order that the conversation began. Maras had been delicate in his approach, pouring himself a cup of tea from the steaming kettle decorated in flora that Erandur had provided them, and soft in tone when he tested for boundaries. 

"I must ask, as I’m sure you’re expecting," Maras peered through the ghostly wisps of steam rising from the cup resting in his grip. "But what has happened?" 

Swallowing down the careful sip he'd taken, Rulindil sighed through the burn that bloomed in the pit of his stomach. Placing his cup down upon the table, his eyes darted about for a few brief seconds as he tried to discern where to even begin. "I left the firm," Rulindil finally murmured, glancing up at his baffled uncle. "Fredas was my last day." 

"You quit? That is so unlike you! Is everything alright? Do you wish to talk about it?" At the flicker of uncertainty in Rulindil's features, Maras breathed an apology. "I lose myself. If ever you wish to discuss anything, you know that I am here." 

"It's alright," Rulindil gave him a tense smile, exhausted in emotion. Maras had struck a tender spot. 

"Is it?" Maras pressed, scooting his tea carefully to one side so he could rest his arms upon the table. His nephew remained quiet, once more struggling to pinpoint just how to answer that question. Rulindil shifted in his seat, his fingers lacing around the cup before him. 

"It...It will be," he concluded softly. "It'll take time, but it will be, I'm sure." 

"It does take time to heal," Maras nodded sagely, the sadness of memories playing behind his jade eyes. "Time is a tricky thing, isn't it? It cuts, it festers, it abandons you, and then suddenly it heals you. Peculiar and horrid, but Rulindil?" Maras leaned forward just a bit, despondent. "Just please promise you will take care of yourself for me?" 

The question, tenderly spoken as it was, stung Rulindil far more than he expected. Remorse twisted at his stomach and clawed through his veins. Bess had always prayed that for him, asked it of him, and he had neglected her wish. 

Before Rulindil had to craft a response, the duo was interrupted by the waitress. Rulindil observed her in silence, taking in what appeared to be an Altmer had it not been for the sharpness in her features that revealed a mix somewhere along the way in her line - like him. Rulindil couldn’t help but wonder if she had suffered the same trials and hatred from the now diminished Aldmeri Dominion. If her parents suffered the same trials and obstacles as Vaarilion and Enwe...

"Good afternoon, Maras," she smiled, setting his plate down before him.

"Thank you, Larysa darling," Maras smiled at her. "How are you today?" 

"I'm doing just fine," Larysa carefully placed Rulindil's sandwich and soup before him. "It's always a little sunnier when you're around." 

"You flatter me, my dear," Maras laughed. Gesturing to Rulindil. "Larysa, this is my nephew, Rulindil. Rulindil, this lovely woman is Larysa. She and her husband Erandur own this charming little establishment." 

"Nice to meet you," Larysa said warmly, giving Rulindil a smile. 

"The pleasure is mine," Rulindil replied with a curt nod of his head. 

"Is there anything else I can get you two? More tea perhaps?" 

"Always, my dear girl. That would be quite alright." 

With their kettle refilled, and everything situated before them, the two began to eat in comfortable silence. Perhaps it was the drastic change from alcohol and the inevitable acidic taste of vomit for months, Rulindil was unsure. All he knew was the food gracing his pallet was a gods send, and Maras chuckled, glad as he watched his nephew relax in his seat and sigh blissfully. 

"They make the best tea blends and foods here," Maras said with a smile. "Erandur has been working for decades to create his brews, and Larysa is a top-notch baker and cook." 

"It is heavenly," Rulindil managed to get out before he shoveled another spoonful of his soup past his lips. Giving a grateful groan, he couldn't help but chuckle along with Maras's laughter. 

"Have you not eaten lately, my boy?" 

"Admittedly Uncle, I haven't cared for myself very much at all recently." 

"I'm terribly sorry to hear this, Rulindil," Maras said softly, placing his sandwich down to look at him sadly. "You work so hard, you always have...we've always been so proud of you. Bessy did worry that this might come to pass."

That had been the words to unhinge the gates of Rulindil's guarded self-control. He had sworn that he wouldn't hint at much, especially within the admittedly blissful confines of a public establishment, but at the sting of the very memory of his aunt being saddened, Rulindil found the recollections falling from his lips without control. Seconds warped into minutes, minutes into an hour, all the while Maras sat in polite silence across from him, soaking in all of his anger, his fear, his defeat. By the time Rulindil had slumped back against the cushion of the chair back and peered back at Maras almost fearfully, he wondered just how proud both he and Orabess would be now. 

"Oh Rulindil," his shoulders tensed as Maras leaned forward. "My dear boy, I - there is nothing that can renew these decades back to you, but if there was a way I could-"

"I know," Rulindil said softly, lowering his eyes to look instead at the porcelain of the bowl and the navy crackle glaze that reminded him far too much of the shattered mess that was his existence. 

"If I may ask; why did you stay as long as you did if you were so terribly strained?" 

Rulindil's throat tightened. The memory of Vaarilion sitting in his office that rainy morning crashed to the forefront of his mind as did the whispers of memories far prior. 

_"Will father be okay?"_

_"I'm not sure," Hendare had muttered, dashing the unshed tears glistening on his lower lashes away with a frustrated swipe of his hand. "I'm not sure if anything will be okay again."_

_"It - It will be," Rulindil said gently. Sparing a look at Vaarilion where he stood at the grave marker, Rulindil felt what little of his hope waiver._

_"Perhaps in time," Hendare had agreed softly, following his brother's line of sight to the form of their father upon the hillside. "I hope...in time."_

Staring back at him that day was the shell of who Vaarilion was once. A mer that delighted in his family and showed kindness to his children. It had been Rulindil's desperate attempt to resurrect the mer Vaarilion used to be that had kept him there at the price of losing himself. 

'How proud are you now, uncle? Orabess?' 

Perhaps Rulindil's steely mask had crumbled and decayed far worse than he'd initially anticipated, for at his silence Maras nodded, a flash of realization swimming through the sea of jade in his eyes. 

"I see." The lightness of his observation set something within Rulindil's spirit free. It wasn't judgemental, nor was it mocking, it was nearly relieved in the undertone. "What will you do now?" Maras asked softly. 

Rulindil swallowed, peering back at him almost timidly. "I'm unsure." 

"Might I offer a suggestion?" 

"Of course," Rulindil sat up a bit straighter. 

"Why not pursue a hobby?" Maras smiled. "Something that will bring you joy. Auri-el knows you could use that." 

At Rulindil's hesitancy, a frown shaded Maras' brow. 

"You do have hobbies...don't you?" 

"No," Rulindil shook his head, "not anymore." 

Maras looked back at him thoughtfully, a gentle smile curled his lips, and hope lit in his eyes. 

"Another suggestion?" 

"Yes," Maras' smile grew. "You need time to heal and to unwind. I know that it isn't the most, ah, masculine of pastimes but if it interests you in any way, I wouldn't be opposed to the company at the shop." 

Rulindil didn't know if it was sheer desperation not to have to anguish over the future or if it was the longing for something good and stable that held no weight upon his weary conscious that prompted him to accept his uncles offer. 

As Maras smiled back at him, Rulindil knew in some part of himself that this was precisely the lifeline he'd sought.


	3. Fuck Corporate

Maras had insisted upon time of rest. 

_"Think of it as an extended Sundas," he had smiled as they parted ways at the florist after the promise of further conversation and company had carried Rulindil into the shop to stay a while longer. "Auri-el knows it'd do you well."_

Five days was surely enough time. It wouldn't do for laziness to settle into his routine. Standing before his mirror, Rulindil neated his appearance and tightened his tie. Running his hand over the cleanly shaven skin of his cheek, the mer paused as he contemplated his appearance. Perhaps someday he'd play with the idea of growing a beard... 

"But not today," he mumbled, smoothing his hair back. A final glance found him satisfied with his appearance and out of the door with a briefcase full of resumes. 

Determination was vital, and with a background such as his, Rulindil was confident that he'd attain employment swiftly, even with the glaring suddenness of the recent abandonment of his law career. 

Carefully navigating the bustling streets of the outer city, Rulindil hummed along to the radio as he steered his car towards the parking garage of his first two destinations. Even with the jaunty tune spilling through the speakers, the changing of traffic lights had the Altmer pausing more than just his vehicle. It was as the citizens milled across the traffic crossing that Rulindil became aware of the greyness that cast shade upon the world that surrounded him. 

He noted the glazed looks on the stream of faces, how aged the young working classes looked — the listlessness of their eyes, all of them staring ahead blankly as they followed the current. A twist of unease caught his gut, the nape of his neck prickling with an uncomfortable needling feeling. He was like that but a week prior. He was living for the weekends that didn't exist. Weekends full of case preparation and long nights full of trying to drown himself into an inebriated slumber, and sometimes hoping that he'd not wake again. 

A honk behind him had him jerking in surprise. Missing the green signal, Rulindil's cheeks blossomed in a blush as he scowled and drove onward, ignoring the disgruntled driver behind him. "What prison am I barring you from returning to?" Rulindil mumbled. Flipping his blinker on the mer carefully followed the drive down into the garage and found a space nearly right away. Giving a small little smile at his luck, he quickly pulled in and parked his car. Shutting the engine off, Rulindil paused to check his reflection in the rearview before reaching for his briefcase sitting upon the ashen leather of the passenger seat. 

Nettlesome was the first word that accompanied the sudden pick up of his heart. Rulindil took in a breath and held it. 

"Enough," he growled through clenched teeth into the empty cab of the car. "You need to do this. Grow up." 

_**Is there a reason?** _

The question was upon him suddenly, blindsiding him as he gripped the door handle. Frozen in place the mer could only blink as he tried desperately to will the scowl that wished to be upon his face to form. 

The days leading to this moment were more torturous than he had expected. Refusing to call it as it was, Rulindil's anxiety had only worsened as the days all but rushed by knowing that this tempting promise of peace was naught but a fickle lie. He was within the prime of his life, and it was time to -work- and not turn a blind eye to his responsibility to society and his worth. 

_"Worth?" Maras cocked his head, a frown tight on his brow. "Whatever do you mean, Rulindil?"_

_"You know," Rulindil shifted on his seat and gestured vaguely at...nothing at all. "We are the backbone of the world, Uncle. We pave the way for those we continuously outlive, and it is because of our work and dedication that Nirn flourishes."_

_"A lovely choice of reply, but full of fault I'm afraid."_

_"How?" Rulindil frowned. "We are Altmer. We live-"_

_"And we will die, my boy." Maras leaned back in his seat. "Sure, some of us might get lucky, and we'll see the sunrise upon our eighth or nine hundredth year, and some will defy their final slumber and claim the honor of millennia. But Rulindil, what happens between birth and death?"_

Rulindil stepped out of the car and pulled in a deep breath. Righting his suit and smoothing his hands down the front, he locked his car and began to walk. The tease of warmth from the sun ghosted through the chilly winter air, the promise of spring making itself known further in the little buds upon the trees and the slow but sure greening of the grasses. He had planned on taking his time to admire the architecture that surrounded him, but Rulindil found his feet carrying him swiftly towards his destination. Ignoring the people he passed by, the mer navigated through the quaint shops and before he knew it he opened the door and stepped inside. 

"Welcome to- Rulindil?" Maras blinked, a surprised smile on his face. "So lovely to see you again and so soon! Is everything alright?" 

Rulindil paused in front of the counter. As he tried to find the right words, he found himself shifting absentmindedly on his feet and his hands uncharacteristically wringing before him. 

"I - I'm not ready after all," he finally said. "I thought...that I was, but..." 

Maras' smile was understanding, his entire demeanor soft as he asked. "What can I do, my boy?" 

Rulindil's brow flinched, and his eyes slowly rose up to examine the interior of the florist in what he could only describe as longing. Longing for all the years he'd all but slaved away in hopes of restoring the happiness of another, his efforts all in vain at the expense of his youth and sanity. 

"Maras," he said softly, trying desperately to swallow past the lump in his throat. It wasn't fair, what had happened to his mother and how his father had crumbled. It wasn't fair that no matter how hard he pushed himself, he had never once made Vaarilion happy or proud again. 

_"Take care of yourself for me, my sweet boy."_

_Better late than never, Aunt Bessy._

"May I take you up on your offer?" Rulindil finished softly, hope making his voice small. “I think helping you here will be beneficial to my mind.” 

His uncle's laughter and the warmth of his responding hug was all the answer Rulindil needed. Fuck corporate; it could all wait a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3


	4. Roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I wrote this up last spring and I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter if I'm honest. I've always had Maras and Vaarilion, have always had them on opposite ends in terms of personality, but to actually let them out of their respective boxes to communicate was...*motions to below* 
> 
> I cried, others cried, and overall I've learned that Maras is a super sweetheart and that Vaarilion is the jerk I always knew he was. But by gosh I adore Vaarilion. I love all of my characters, but Vaarilion just has a special place in my heart. Some warnings; DEPRESSION, angst, Vaarilion not dealing well with life, Rulindil finding a new life calling, and Maras returning home.

The afternoon Maras received the letter was still crisp in his memory. It had been a gorgeous day full of warm, golden rays of sunshine filtering through the treetop canopies surrounding their home. The birdsong was a chorus of delight within the foliage, and the air was sweet with the scent of flowers. 

Bessy had always adored her flowers, and whatever his beloved Orabess loved, then by Mara, Maras did too. 

He sipped his tea and smiled as he watched her fuss over her patch of lavender when his gaze flickered to someone pacing down the path towards their home. Cocking his head, Maras had risen and stepped off his porch to meet the courier. 

"Sorry to bother you on a Sundas," the Bosmeri messenger had said sheepishly as he handed the parchment over. "But they said this was real urgent." 

"Ah, no worries lad," Maras had replied, fishing in his pocket for a septim or two. "Oh, excuse me. I'll need to run inside for a moment-" 

"Here!" Orabess was at his side in a flash with a septim proffered from what Maras could assume to be thin air and a smile on her face. "Hurry back to town, we've had a nasty bit of ruckus dealing with harpies lately." 

Watching the courier scuttle away, Maras chuckled and looked down at his wife. 

"We've had no such issues, darling." 

"They don't need to know that," Orabess grinned. "But it must be important indeed if they've sent out a post on the laziest day of the week. Who's it from?" 

Turning the envelope in his hands, Maras' brow lifted a smile ghosting across his lips at the name that greeted him. 

"It's from Hendare."

"Oh sweet Hendare! How I love that boy," Bess wiped her hands on her skirts and followed him as he returned to the porch to sit. "I do hope everything is alright. We should really visit them." 

Maras murmured a sound of agreement and popped the wax seal to open the parchment to his curious eyes. The silence that followed had Orabess unknowingly scooting ever closer to her husband, whose smile had dropped from his face as his body tensed with each word he read. 

"Maras?" she asked in a soft whisper as if fearful anything above it would shatter him. "What is it?" 

"Enwe," he swallowed thickly, fighting the stinging in his eyes as he forced out the news. "Enwe has died." 

Orabess said nothing. Her hand clapped softly over her mouth, her eyes widening in shock before her arms were wrapped tight around his neck. 

"Oh Maras," she finally breathed. "What happened to her?" 

"It doesn't say," he replied softly. Pulling her onto his lap, he hugged Bess tight to him and sighed. "I must go-" 

"No, Maras, we will go." 

"This will be a long trip, Bessy," Maras stated as she pulled back to look long and hard into his eyes. 

"No trip is too long when it comes to those you love," she said with a tone that left no room for argument. 

"What of our home? Your garden? What if this trip doesn't see our immediate return?" 

Leave it to the male ego to try anyway. Orabess shook her head with a smile. 

"Flowers will always bloom again, Maras. Seasons come, and they go, but with dedication and care, flowers will ever be. As for home-" she cupped his face and gently pressed her lips to his, the kiss sweet and lingering. "Home is where you are, my silly elf, and if you go? I go. Remember?" 

The ache in his heart waned at her declaration. Maras pulled her closer, his lips tracing hers, seeking more of her kisses, losing himself in her scent, her warmth, the love that had always seemed to permeate off her. 

"I love you, Bessy," he keened against the silver of her hair as he hugged her and found comfort in her presence. _"Ada, A tandil-ye."_

"And I love you," her breath ghosted warmly against his neck, her lips leaving a delicate kiss to his pulse. "Always I've loved you." 

Maras had suspected that their time in the Imperial City would last for a short while. He never counted on the city tempting either of them to stay. Rather, he never counted on Orabess demanding it. 

The beauty and history of the inner sanctum, _Ant-Civīta_ , had beckoned to her, and with the promise of visits from her beloved nephews so close now, Maras couldn't find it in him to say no when she came to him with the idea of opening a florist. 

Granted, he had indeed said no, but it had been far weaker than he'd have liked it to be. The thought of living in the middle of a bustling, ever-growing metropolis wasn't one Maras was too keen on, but Orabess craved it. 

The quaint corner shop, one half of what long used to be the Tiber Septim Hotel, and cozy apartment above had slowly but surely grown on him over the years, and with her contagious kindness, Bess Flora soon developed into a reputable shop within Cyrodiil. 

Visits from Hendare and Rulindil were abundant at first, as expected with their grief and their underlying desperation to feel something other than loneliness, and Maras and Orabess had been sure to give them anything they needed. 

Hendare continued to soar in his career, and Rulindil was an up-and-coming star in his father's joint firm with Voradil. Both of them kept it going, the facade of normalcy, so much so that they even tried to trick their aunt and uncle on the off chance of a visit that all was well. 

It was Hendare that cracked first. 

Though Vaarilion lived but twenty minutes away, Maras had heard nothing from him since the darkened weeks following Enwe's burial. Often on break, Maras would perch himself in the window of his apartment and sip his tea in silence as he looked across the bay to the expanding city, noting the exact building where Vaarilion worked being in his line of sight. 

He had hoped Vaarilion was doing well, that he was treating his sons well, and that he'd see through their own acts to please him once more. When the bell jingled merrily signaling a patron one cheerful Morndas morning, Maras was about to be in for more than he'd bargained for. 

"Welcome to-" 

He was cut off as the figure all but stormed through the shop. His eyes were fire, his features gaunt but showing promise of inclining health compared to when he'd seen him last. "V-Vaarilion-" 

"You," Vaarilion had snarled. "You did this, didn't you?" 

Maras blinked, taken aback by the venom in Vaarilion's words. 

"What has happened, brother?" 

"Don't you play innocent with me!" Vaarilion's hands slammed down against the aged oak of the countertop making Maras jump. A finger jabbed hard against his chest, no doubt hurting Vaarilion as well. "You did this! You have destroyed my son!" 

Anger unexpectedly sparked hot through Maras' nerves, his eyes narrowing in challenge to this unforeseen accusation. 

"I do not know what you're talking about," Maras said slowly, stepping back from the offending digit anchored upon his chest. "But if you'd care to calm yourself down, I will gladly discuss this issue civilly." 

"Civilly," Vaarilion spat, retracting his hand to lean on the counter and glare at him. "Civility crumbled when you and your little wife sowed your wretched roots here and warped his mind." 

"Vaarilion, please calm yourself-" 

"Hendare left his job today," Vaarilion leaned forward, his eyes scalding in his humiliation and outrage. "Not only that, but he has decided to run away with some Imperial whore!" 

Maras sighed, glancing away for a brief second. 

"Vaarilion, he has tried so hard for you-" 

"And he's thrown it all away for what? What have you told him, hm? What have I done to deserve this embarrassment?!" 

"This is not a stab at you," Maras said sharply, frowning at Vaarilion. "I know you believe it is, but I assure you that Hendare has meant no harm to befall you." 

"You should've stayed away," Vaarilion snarled hatefully, pushing himself off the counter to cross his arms across his chest. "You and your mongrel. You should've stayed away!" 

Outrage sprang to the front of Maras's mind, his hands tingling with spells lost long ago to the laws and decrees instituted upon the fall of the Aldmeri Dominion. His lips tightened, threatening to pull into a nearly identical sneer that was twisted upon his brother's face. 

Looking at the very mer that he'd worried about for so long, his mind was quick to toss up the same outrage and hatred that Vaarilion had so easily strewn about. They'd inherited the short temper of their father, Saarulion, and the hateful resentment of the mother that never loved them, but Maras had always tried so hard to keep his mouth shut and mind in line when presented with a situation such as this. 

But, gods, it hurt. It always had. Between the physical abuse from a Thalmor-warped Saarulion, and the emotional and verbal from Penelore, Maras had struggled, but he always did his best to keep it together for his little brother who was just as hurt and lost as he. 

That little brother had a good heart, Maras had always sworn it, for he had seen it time and time again in the most unlikely of ways at the most unexpected times. The trauma of their childhood had affected Vaarilion differently than Maras, building the wall of mistrust and anger up around his guarded heart. 

When Enwe entered the picture, Maras had seen the slightest of changes in Vaarilion. A happiness and contentment that could only come from a wife, he finally had the chance to step back fully and allow his little brother to live a life that he knew would bring him joy. 

It had, but it had also been the ultimate blow when he was left behind to wander a life of chosen solitude in the wake of her sudden departure into the next. 

"What happened to you?" Maras heard himself breathe that day, his voice holding the smallest tremble. 

Vaarilion said nothing, and Maras knew in the silence lingered the answer. He was alone, convinced Auri-el had forsaken him for the sins of their father and their grandfather before him. His child - no doubt his children, if Rulindil would follow suit - had crumbled under the pressures of trying to make his father happy again, but in Vaarilion's jaded eyes it was a direct act of rebellion. 

"Anyammis." 

Maras stood quietly and watched Vaarilion turn and stalk back out of the shop. It was only as the little bell echoed through the space that he snapped out of the haze of what had transpired. 

Life. Of course Vaarilion would blame life, and the hurt his brother faced had a lump forming in Maras's throat. His eyes burned and his tears wetted his face as he quickly walked into the back of the florist where he fell onto a stool and cried into his hands until her voice cut through his sobs. 

"Maras?! My love, what happened? What's wrong?" 

He clutched at Orabess, pulling his ailing wife up onto his lap as he held her and cried into her shoulder. 

Maras wouldn't hear from his brother again for nearly five decades. There was no letter, no phone call, no acknowledgment of Orabess's passing from Vaarilion, and the part of him that wasn't sick with grief wasn't surprised. What _had_ surprised Maras was the absence of Rulindil at her service. 

Hendare had hugged his uncle tightly through his desperate attempt to choke down his tears, apologies on his lips for how he had let her down, how he'd let them all down. Maras had been adamant to his nephew that he was at no fault. That both he and Bess knew he loved them, and that they completely understood what he had to do to aid himself in the long run. 

"Life is too short, my boy, to be trapped and miserable. Even for us Altmer." 

He had received a call from Rulindil the following day apologizing for his nonattendance and for the loss of his aunt. 

"That's fine, my boy," Maras had said softly over the phone, a weak smile on his lips that crumbled just as quickly as it appeared. "I know that you are a busy mer of late. You were there in spirit, and that's all that matters." 

A little over four and a half decades later would find his nephew walking solemnly into the florist one spring morning sporting the weariness of a mer at least twice his age, and baggage from nearly a century of doing what his elder brother had tried to do; make their father happy again. 

The lingering sting of aggravation for Rulindil's absence all those years vanished upon seeing the state he was in as Maras pulled him into a tight, joyful hug. A weight had lifted free from his shoulders at that moment, and Maras would soon realize that much the same had happened for Rulindil. 

The weeks following found Rulindil going from straightening merchandise on the shelves in the storefront and tidying the street displays outside the front door to aiding Maras in creating arrangements. 

At least...he'd _tried._

"Ah...ha," Maras blinked at the - the _creation_ sitting before Rulindil on the tabletop. Words silent in his throat, Maras cocked his head and frowned. He wasn't sure what his nephew had been trying to do, but a glance up from the jumble of leaves, random stems, and bruised leaves to the blushing face of Rulindil had him smiling in reassurance. 

"You'll get there, my boy! Practice in any field or anything makes perfect after all!" 

At Maras' encouragement, Rulindil rolled his eyes.

"This is ridiculous," he huffed. "This should not be a chore. They are flowers." 

"That they are," Maras agreed. "What is the problem?" 

"They are the problem," Rulindil muttered, looking away from the monstrosity he'd somehow created, and arms crossing over his chest defensively.

"Because they aren't falling into place perfectly right away?" 

"Precisely." 

"Allow me to fill you in on a secret," Maras had smiled. "Nothing is perfect, Rulindil. These arrangements? The colors, the creation, the finished projects? Not perfect. What you must do is convince others that it is." 

He placed his hand on Rulindil's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. 

"You will always see flaws, my boy. It is hardwired into you I'm afraid, but please do not fret over perfection. It is terribly unhealthy and will drive you into the place you've just emerged from. Don't return there, Rulindil." 

Gods, how far Rulindil had come from that time. Maras wondered where the time had gone. Five years? He'd only blinked, he swore it. He rose from his bed and stretched, wincing at the cracking of his bones as he stumbled forward. There were rather more of those these days, aches as well. Maras didn't know when he'd become old. 

Sighing, he went about his morning routine and settled himself on his sofa with a steaming mug of chamomile tea before him to begin his meditations. Closing his eyes, Maras leaned back on the cushions and pulled in a deep, steadying breath. 

It had been too steadying, Maras had concluded when he'd opened his eyes again some ten minutes later. The memories that invaded the tranquility of the scenes he'd tried to conjure were far too heavy in their innocence. 

_"Where do you want to live?"_

_Maras smiled as Orabess, youthful as she was back then, cuddled up to his side, and sighed at the soft, welcomed warmth of her lithe body as she rested with him beneath the blankets._

_"Where do I want to live?" Orabess had repeated softly, a gentle hum following that. "I know where I want to live."_

_"Tell me," Maras implored as he turned his eyes to look down at her. His heart quickened in his chest as she looked back at him through wisps of silver, the gorgeous depths of her apricot eyes sparkling in the low light of dawn._

_"With you," Orabess whispered. At Maras’ genteel snort she cupped his cheek and said. "I will travel to the ends of Nirn, brave the seas, lose myself in unmapped places, Maras, but where you are? That is home."_

Maras hid his face away beneath his palms and desperately tried to pacify the sharp ache in his heart at the realization that he was without her. Of course, he knew she was gone, but it was moments like this that caught him off guard. 

He'd long lost count of the number of times he'd cried since her passing, and he reckoned it would never really cease until he had reached his end to cross over into Auri-el's warmth and Bessy's arms. 

"Gods," Maras groaned, wiping his face against his roughened hands before training his attention across the room and through the opened door of his bedroom. There, upon her nightstand, Bessy sat. Her urn decorated in swirling flora and feminine as she always was, and Maras couldn't help the sob that left him as he looked at the memory of what was. 

"Bessy," he croaked, his eyes screwing shut as he hung his head and cried. "Orabess..." 

It'd been a long time coming, Maras would conclude when he finally got himself under control some thirty minutes later. He never wanted to linger in the ever-changing chaos of the Imperial City, but he had because of his love for his beloved Bessy. 

Perhaps it'd been fear that kept him there after her passing. Fear that he'd fail her and her dream, fear that he'd fail his family again as he had in his absence before Enwe's death. Maras couldn't be sure anymore. 

"Uncle?" Rulindil had paused the arrangement he'd been working so diligently on at the sight of Maras when he finally emerged from upstairs. Worry laced his brow and concern widened his eyes as he ushered Maras to sit down. "Maras? What happened? Are you alright?" 

"No," the answer was soft and heavy with its sincerity. "I'm not, my boy." 

"Do you need a doctor? Are you hurt?" 

"I am, but not in a way that can be rectified by a visit to a physician," Maras's weak laugh evaporated before it ever entirely came to be. 

Rulindil swallowed, realization dawning across his face as he pulled himself into the seat beside Maras. He hesitated as he lifted his hand, but found his uncertainty dropping when Maras sighed sadly and placed it gently upon his uncle's shoulder. 

"It's alright, my boy," Maras looked up, offering a trembling smile. "It'll be alright." 

"Did...did you have a dream?" Rulindil asked softly, unsure if he should speak at all. 

"No. No, I've already lived my dream," Maras managed to breathe. He fought to swallow down the lump in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut against the prickling burn at the backs of them. "At least...I aided hers." 

"Uncle, I'm sorry." 

"She always told me...that home was where I was," Maras' voice trembled. "And now that - that she's..." 

Rulindil squeezed Maras' shoulder, his lips pursing as his uncle lifted his hand to place it over his. He waited in respectful silence as Maras struggled briefly to gather himself. 

"Rulindil." 

"Yes, uncle?" 

"I hate to do this to you, my boy, I hope you understand," Maras lifted his reddened eyes and looked back at his nephew. "But...I can't stay here. Not anymore." 

Rulindil watched quietly as Maras took a moment to look around the storeroom of the florist forlornly. At that moment, Maras had never seemed so small...so defeated, and so painfully lost. 

_"Maras, will you promise me something?"_

_"Anything, Bessy," he whispered as he held his dying wife close. "I will do anything for you, always, you know this."_

_Orabess gave a strained giggle in reply, coughing hard as her body failed her joy. Maras fought away his tears as he loosened his grip to allow her any room she needed until the fit passed, pulling her back to his embrace when it ceased._

_"It's what I asked of you from the start," she sighed, nuzzling his shoulder. "What I've asked our sweet Hendare and Rulindil. What I wish I could've said to Vaarilion..."_

_"What is it, darling?" Maras' voice strained in the wake of his crumbling control not to cry for what would have probably been the hundredth time that day._

"She made me promise, Rulindil, just as she made you and Hendare," Maras looked back to his nephew, and his tears fell where they would. "She made me promise to take care of myself, and remaining here in this place, full of memories that only hurt me worse as the days pass..." 

"I understand," Rulindil offered softly, the chiming of his aunt’s voice resounding in the back of his mind when she'd ask the same of him. 

"She's going to start haunting me, my boy," Maras smiled sadly, his face wet as he pulled his sleeve down over his fist to dab at it. "Gods love her, you know she will." 

"I know, Maras," Rulindil rubbed his back, straining to swallow past the guilt aching at the back of his throat. "You have done so much for us all, and - and it's time that you fulfill your promise."

"I would do it all again," Maras said. "Auri-el knows I would." 

"Might I offer something that may help put your spirit at ease, uncle?" 

Maras turned to him, a small smile on his face that had Rulindil's features softening at the gentle soul that shimmered in Maras' eyes through the tears that welled there. 

"Please speak your mind, Rulindil." 

"This place," Rulindil glanced around, taking in the ancient stone and wood that surrounded them, the sprigs of flora throughout on shelves and counters where glass vases of multiple colors shimmered in the overhead lights. "It has helped me far more than I ever expected it to-" 

"I know," Maras cut him off, shame tight in his words for letting his nephew down. "I'm sorry, my boy, I-" 

"Uncle, if I may," Rulindil's voice clipped slightly, a tension in his voice that had Maras going quiet at how he took after Vaarilion in that aspect as well. "I wish to purchase it." 

"You...You wish...the florist??" 

"Yes. This was a dream and, oddly enough, it's a dream of mine now. If I may, I'd be honored to continue running the shop. Aunt Bess always wanted me to take care of myself. You needing peace is your way, and this is mine-"

Rulindil was interrupted again, this time by a tearful hug and a joyful laugh against his shoulder as Maras held him tight.

The two weeks later saw Rulindil waving to Maras through the weather aged window of a train. He'd tried to offer to purchase a plane ticket for his uncle, but Maras had insisted he take the train no matter how much longer the commute. 

"It'll be good to see the lands, my boy. Besides, I've never really been one to consider flying. I prefer to stay on the ground if it's quite alright." 

Maras tugged up his scarf and clutched his satchel close as his eyes lingered on his nephew where he stood on the platform. Not for the first time that week Maras warred with the urge to call off his retirement as he looked at the small smile that tickled at the corners of Rulindil's mouth. 

"Please take care of yourself, my boy," Maras breathed, a lump in his throat as he forced a smile onto his face. "No matter what, please watch over him, Auri-el. Please bless him." 

_"Vaarilion? It's Maras. I'm - I'm sure you're more than aware of that," Maras gave a rueful chuckle as he glanced around his empty apartment. "I was calling to tell you that I'm leaving the city. I...don't know if or when I'll return again."_

'The train door is closing. Please stay clear of the door.' 

_"I was hoping to catch you before I leave. It'd be nice to sit down and have lunch if you're not terribly busy. Though knowing you, you probably are," Maras sighed, his heart aching in his chest at the thought of never finding closure with his brother. "I digress... if you are available I would be thrilled to buy you a meal and catch up. I leave on Fredas the twenty-sixth at nine in the morning."_

__

__

Maras smiled sadly as he looked out across the bay to the city skyline beyond. 

_"This number is good still until then, should you wish to reach me.”_

It wasn't shocking that Maras never saw that lunch date come to pass. What was surprising, however, was the phone call he received the Middas afternoon prior to his departure as he worked on packing away his apartment. 

_"Hello?"_

_The silence on the other end had Maras pausing, a frown wrinkling his brow in mild irritation as he immediately perceived the call to be a prank._

_"Hello?" he pressed again, his mild annoyance carrying through the lilt of his accent, and just before he pulled the receiver away to cut it, his world came to a sudden halt._

_"You're leaving?"_

_Maras' breath caught in his throat, and the box he'd been fussing with was forgotten as he stood straight and managed to stammer, "Vaarilion...I - I had hoped to hear from you."_

_"Had you?" Vaarilion drawled in an almost bored tone. "Precious."_

_"I had." Maras couldn't help but smile even despite the tone his brother held. "How are you?"_

_"Busy."_

_"As always," Maras managed to force a chuckle. "But can you make time for lunch? Perhaps tomorrow-"_

_"I just told you I'm busy, Maras."_

_Maras lingered in the silence, hating how it stung him unfairly in the wake of the decline._

_"I understand," he finally said._

_"Delightful. You leave Fredas, yes?"_

_"Yes. My train departs at nine in the morning."_

_"Why didn't you choose to fly?" Vaarilion couldn't hide the touch of bemusement that weakened his indifference. "A sixteen-hour train commute is ludicrous when air travel cuts that time in half."_

_"I am a mer that would prefer the ground," Maras chuckled. "The scenery on the way is beautiful, and they're calling for the weather to be fair the whole journey back to Evermore."_

_"You were always keen to ramble on and on over things like the landscape," Vaarilion quipped. Maras could easily picture the eye roll that accompanied his observation._

_"It's the little things in life that matter. If it brings you joy, then why not fuss over it?"_

_At the silence that lingered, Maras watched a plane high above to leave a streak of white in the sky. Like chalk, he had always thought. Etchings in the vast pale._

_"Rulindil offered to purchase a plane ticket," he added softly, "but I turned it down."_

_"Rulindil?" Vaarilion's voice tightened. "He's still there then?"_

_"He is," Maras bristled a bit. "He has immense talent-"_

_"That is wasted."_

_"Is it wasted if he's happy, Vaarilion?"_

_"Do not try my patience," Vaarilion snarled._

_"I do no such thing."_

_"One of my offspring is on some godsforsaken waste in Morrowind taking photographs of Dunmeri nonsense, and my other is playing with flowers! Their happiness means little when their actions bring such shame!"_

_"Shame?" Maras breathed. The hotter part of his soul, the anger that he housed that would rival his brother’s and his father’s kindled, ready to be loosed upon the mer that had become a stranger - the shade of the mer that Maras knew he'd once been. "Listen to yourself. How could you say such a thing?"_

_"Do not begin droning on with your free-spirited and sentimental bullshit, Maras."_

_"Don't you dare - Don't you even dare, Vaarilion. Those boys did everything they could to make you happy after Enwe-"_

_"Do not speak of her as if you knew her! Don't you ever say her name!"_

_"I didn't know her, not as you did, but I know she made you happy!"_

Maras pulled in a ragged breath as the train lurched forward, lifting his trembling hand to wave at his nephew. 

"Take care of yourself," he mouthed, noting the smallest nod of Rulindil's head before the platform vanished to show the buildings that surrounded the station. 

_"You are a fool, Vaarilion. A bitter, sightless, shadow of the great mer you once were! You have destroyed them, and perhaps you didn't realize it, but now you do, and you still blame them for trying!"_

_Maras trembled, tears wet on his face._

_"I'm leaving this city, brother, and it breaks my heart that I'm leaving knowing you have never changed for the better."_

_A bitter, hateful snort preceded Vaarilion's rumbling retort._

_"And what would you know-"_

_"Everything!" Maras cried out into the receiver, not giving his brother any time to respond. "I know how it feels because I lost my beloved Bess, you rotten boor! I know how hard it is! I know how bad it hurts, and damn it to Oblivion Vaarilion, I know that there comes a day where you must wake up and realize that you have no choice but to move on!_

_I hate it, Vaarilion! I hate that my Orabess is gone, and I had hoped that it would be different between you and me, but nothing changed! I gave you time, I gave you space, I gave you my word that I'd be there if and when you needed me because I always was and will be!"_

_"I never needed you," Vaarilion's voice had dropped into a rasp, his anger as prominent as the denial he wore as armor. "I never needed you, nor did I need their petty attempts at trying to attain my pride!"_

_"Liar," Maras snarled. "You are a liar, Vaarilion!"_

"Confound it," Maras fumbled to retrieve his handkerchief from his coat pocket as his tears dripped down onto the bag he clutched tight to his middle. Within was his beloved Bess tucked away with a change of clothes and all the notes she'd ever written him organized in an age-worn box. 

Pressing the cloth to his eyes, Maras pulled in a deep breath as sobs threatened to tear at his throat. This was a happy day, he struggled to remind himself. A long overdue day - the day that they returned home. 

"I - I don't suppose I'm nearly as prepared as I thought, Bess," he panted, wiping his face as he glanced out of the window to watch the farms and countryside. "But...for you, I'll do my best." 

_"And you are weak," Vaarilion's voice was frigid, and yet Maras had never felt so seared by the words spoken._

_His blood frozen in his veins, Maras grappled for the back of the sofa as he stumbled across the room to stare out to the outer city across the bay. There the Uar Vanna Business Complex lingered framed by the taller buildings that surrounded it. There, on the sixteenth floor looking back to the inner sanctum, Vaarilion stood._

_'I never needed you. I never needed anyone.'_

_"Vaarilion... I only want you to be happy," Maras shook his head, unaware if his tone was little more than a whisper or inaudible completely over the roar of his heart in his ears. "It's all I've ever wished for you."_

_"You want for me to be happy?"_

_"Always."_

_"Get on your train then, and never return here."_

_"Brother..."_

Maras managed a small smile as the serenity of the world outside the window touched at the lingering sting from the cruelty that life had imposed upon him. Hugging the pack closer, the mer leaned against the frame, and for the moment, life was kind again. 

"Let's go home, Bess." 

_"Goodbye, Maras."_

_The line went dead before Maras had the chance to respond. It was only when the dial-tone cut through his shock that Maras pulled in a ragged breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and wept for long moments after at the agony of it all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, should you stick around for the modern collab in the works, you will come to love Vaarilion. Thank goodness for redemption arcs and pretty faces. Thank you again so much for reading, beautiful reader! If you have any questions or *kind and actual* critique do be sure to leave it below! 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed! 
> 
> (((Happy Birthday, Veanna!!)))
> 
> -archer

**Author's Note:**

> I plan on posting a chapter each week. Thank you so much for reading!


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